


Stained-Glass Hands

by theappleppielifestyle



Series: driving fast down dark roads [2]
Category: The Avengers
Genre: M/M, alcohol abuse (off screen), mild child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He turns the corner just in time to see Howard’s hand rear back, and come down with a lightning-crack, slapping Tony hard enough for his head to snap sideways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stained-Glass Hands

When he walks in to hear Howard shouting, Steve’s not surprised.

Really, at this point, that’s almost all he’s heard out of Howard (if you exclude what he’s seen on TV, which has been mostly Howard with that plastic smile that always makes Steve turn off the TV and put his head between his knees for a few minutes, because it reminds Steve too much of Tony’s plastic smile, and why Tony has to use it).

So, yeah. He’s not surprised at all to hear Howard screaming at Tony- something about _needing to pick up his responsibilities_ and _doesn’t have time for a boyfriend_ and _nothing good will come out of this, you mark my words_ -

Steve pauses at the doorway, one foot still on the step- at this angle, he can only see Tony’s face, the pinched, hollow expression that he gets whenever Howard comes home from his business trips.

Steve wants to kiss it away, to turn Tony’s face to him and say _hey, I’m here, remember, we’re still here, don’t listen to him_.

Tony’s shouting, too-his voice almost drowns out his father’s, but not quite.

Tony’s slurring, Steve realizes, and he’s slumped against the wall-

He’s drunk.

Steve feels it hit him, the heavy weight sliding behind his tongue, settling in his stomach and knocking around. He starts towards them, his footsteps getting drowned out.

Then, everything happens at once:

He turns the corner just in time to see Howard’s hand rear back, and come down with a lightning- _crack_ , slapping Tony hard enough for his head to snap sideways.

For a heartbeat- one heartbeat, he can hear it in his ears- Steve comes to a halt, shock-still, and Tony’s eyes focus on him through the hot film of moisture, and Howard looks up with a hard jaw, and Tony drops his eyes, swaying, like he should be _ashamed_ -

Steve’s surging forwards toward Howard before he’s aware of it, taking a nasty satisfaction in the surprise on his face as Steve brings back his fist- thumb not curled in between his fingers, he learned a thing or two in middle school- and punches him in the face.

Howard stumbles back, hitting the wall and sliding down, and Tony lurches forwards. “Ste-”

Howard just stares, his mouth slack, and Steve yanks him up by his shirt.

“Don’t touch him.” Steve’s having trouble keeping his voice steady. “Don’t you _dare_. He’s a billion times better than you have ever, and will ever be, and he _deserves_ _better_ than-”

“Steve!” Tony’s at his side, pushing at his shoulder, tugging drunkenly. “Steve, f’r fuck’s sake-”

Steve makes his fist unclench, and Howard jerks upright, a muscle fluttering in his jaw.

“You-”

“Me,” Steve says. “And if you _ever_ fucking-”

“Jeeeez, Steve, you’ve dropped the f-bomb more times in the past thirty seconds than I’ve heard you do for _ever_ ,” Tony slurs. “Could you two kindly back the fuck away from each other before someone sues?”

Steve had found out at age 13: Tony, at times, can be fucking articulate drunk.

Howard grits his teeth. “If you think I am going to be intimidated by a _child_ , you are sorely mistaken.”

“Whatev’r floats your boat.” Tony tries for a smile, but it turns flimsy and flatlines. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, me and the child here are going to leave.”

He turns, and his legs wobble slightly. “Steve?”

Steve leans forwards to steady him, his arm braced around Tony’s waist.

It should worry him, how familiar that is- the warm weight of Tony sagging into him, like he’s the only thing keeping him afloat.

-

“I kinda fucked up, huh?”

Steve’s head whips around to him. “ _What_? Tony, your dad hitting you is just him being an abusive asshole, not-”

“N’t that.” Tony waves his hand, the gesture too jerky. “’M drunk. Again.”

He barks out a laugh, and Steve feels it on his neck. “Ooooops.”

“Oops,” Steve agrees, watching him with lead in his throat, because Jesus Christ, Tony looks fucking miserable, half-dragging his feet-

“Tony-”

“Don’t.” Tony jerks away, out of Steve’s arms, and stumbles- his knees hit the ground, then his palms, and he starts to laugh again: loud, abrasive- it sounds like broken glass in his throat and bleeding out all over the grass, his voice hitching in all the wrong places. “Fucking knew I couldn’t- couldn’t even go for a month- _fuck_.”

He bends, shoving his hands through his hair hard enough that it looks like it hurts.

Steve should know how to handle this- he’s seen Tony at his worst, wracked with silent sobs at age 8 after his mother had died, and then again, less than a month ago, just before they had kissed for the first time.

Steve crouches. He reaches to put a hand on Tony’s back, but stops when Tony flinches away.

It’s unintentional- the flinch, he means, because as soon as Tony flinches, he gets that look, like, _you fucking bastard, you have no right to be this weak_ -

Steve can practically see the thought tearing through, shorting out streetlights and setting things on fire as it goes.

Tony juts out his jaw, finally turning to look at him. “I’m- fucking- fuck, Steve, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Steve feels the words rot on his tongue as it comes up, like bile, because everything’s _not_ fine- Tony’s still swaying, even on his hands and knees, and the left side of his face where Howard had slapped him is starting to bruise, black-and-blue around the edges of his cheekbone.

This time when Steve’s hand comes to sit on Tony’s shoulder, he leans into it.

Steve’s throat clicks. “What happened?”

Tony frowns for a second, almost saying _what do you mean, you saw it, he slapped me_ , before looking down at his shaking hands and realizing, _oh_. “Uh. I dunno, it was just- it was just _there_ , y’know, ‘cause we cleaned out all the stashes in the house, so he needed some more, an’ he got someone to pick some up.”

He swallows, feeling the phantom taste of it- the welcome burn, like it’s filling him up to the brim until he’s overflowing with grit and dirt and something else, something filthy, something stupid and useless and worthless, like him.

“An’, uh.” He can feel his eyes stinging again- he blinks it back, clenches his jaw, breathes in deep- lather, rinse, repeat- “Fuck. ‘S stupid. I was just- I was thinking about- about how big the house was, an’ how it- It’s always so loud when I walk through it, an’ I just- everything just hit me all at once, like- like how it was fucking empty, all the time, an’ I’m just gonna end up like him, in a big empty house, ‘cause-”

_Inhale, exhale, clench your fists into the dirt because they’re still wobbling, don’t look up_ \- “-cause you’re smart, so you wouldn’t- none of you guys are gonna stay with me, ‘cause you shouldn’t, and people don’t-”

Steve’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, and Tony falls silent, struck dumb by how Steve’s thumb is stroking a soft line along the bruise, feather-light.

“Tony.” Steve leans in, pushing Tony’s shoulders up gently so they’re both kneeling. “You know how we’re always saying that even though you’re a genius, you act like an idiot at times?”

Tony nods, still stuck on how Steve’s thumb is curving, like he’s saving him one touch at a time.

Steve’s mouth flickers. “You’re an idiot if you think, for one second, that we’re going to leave you. That _I’m_ going to leave you. Look, we- we’ve all done some pretty stupid stuff, right? Remember the whole thing with Loki?”

“Mmmph.”

“But it all got sorted out, remember? And now everything’s fine, and- and we’re graduating soon, so yes, everything’s going to change. But you know our constant, right?”

Steve watches Tony’s eyes flutter shut, half-lost in the small, circular motions of Steve’s thumb across his cheek.

“It’s that no matter what- and I’m talking different colleges, different countries, sudden death, a freaking zombie apocalypse- we’ll always come back to each other.”

He tilts Tony’s head up, and Tony’s eyes open again long enough to watch Steve lean in and kiss him softly on the bruise, and then on the lips. “Okay?”

Tony smiles sluggishly. “’kay.”

Steve sighs. “Good. Now, come on.”

Tony frowns as Steve begins to haul him up. “Where‘re we going?”

Steve loops one arm under his armpit for better leverage. “Home.”

Tony tenses, and Steve snorts. “Not there, you moron. _Home_. I’ll make the spare bed.”

“Always do,” Tony mumbles, grinning into Steve’s shoulder. Then: “You make everything better, you know that, right?”

Steve starts to answer, but Tony stops him: “Mom used- she used to say that everyone gets at least one good thing. You’re a good- a good thing.”

Tony lets his head drop into Steve’s neck, his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “My good thing.”

Steve watches his eyes track slowly, and sighs. “Okay, this isn’t going to work.”

Tony freezes up.

Steve bends down, and Tony yelps loudly as his legs are scooped up from underneath him.

Steve bounces him into place, and grins down at Tony’s bewildered expression. “What? You can hardly walk, I don’t expect you to stumble halfway across town-”

Tony starts to laugh, genuine, half-gulps of laughter, and Steve has to stop for a few seconds to he doesn’t drop him.

He grins, and kisses Tony on the forehead. “Come on, good thing. Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Someone asked for a sequel to 'Beer Bottle Eyes,' and I obliged.


End file.
